Fate
by Shell-Shocked Lunatic
Summary: "You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together." His voice was sarcastic, but good-naturedly so. "Alistair of the Gray Wardens at your service, m'lady." AlistairxF!Cousland
1. The Dream

**Chapter I** the dream

Falling, falling. Always falling. Blood, blood on the ground and in the smoke and in her hair. Blood again, spilling over the edge of a cracked Gray glass. Senseless, hushed and hurried murmurs, broken laughter. Blood, her own this time, running thick and dark and slow. But always the falling.

She woke, breathing jagged, before she felt the end of the falling. She knew she wouldn't, even as she tumbled through the vast horror of the dream that came as it had many times before. She never had. She wished she would, she thought as she sat up in her bed, now messy from her restless sleep. Maybe that would bring an end to it.

She knew better than to wish after an end so easy, though—life wasn't that kind.

Her brooding was interrupted by a breath of hot air on her left arm. Her heart jumped, frayed nerves buzzing, even as she saw the familiar glowing blue eyes of her mabari. "Asgar," she breathed; out loud, as if to soothe her ragged mind. The towering war dog offered an almost inaudible whimper and licked her hand softly. This wasn't the first time he had seen her come out of sleep in such a state. Her father, in respect of her mother's disdain of animals as night guests in Highever, had ordered all mabari to sleep with the hounds in the kennels when she was years younger. At the time, she had resented Asgar being treated as just any mongrel; he was her closest companion since youth, besides being twice as intelligent as the high-born lords and ladies that constantly graced the Cousland halls. She had obeyed for the most part, though, until recently. After the attack, Asgar rarely left her side. Of all the castle's many inhabitants, the dog was the only one to know of the terrors it had left with her. She was grateful. He nuzzled against her outstretched hand. She hadn't noticed she had been shaking.

Frustrated, she threw off her blankets and strode to the window. Her fingers fumbled on the latch. She cursed herself under her breath as she managed to open it, flinging both panels out with slightly more force than necessary. The rush of cold night air hit her, jarring but welcome. It helped her pull her mind out of the dreams and back to reality. Asgar padded up softly to stand beside her. She placed a hand on his head without thinking as she looked out into the early morning air. The moon was out, in that awkward phase between a half moon and a full one. Incomplete, she thought it seemed.

A flash of silver on the underside of her right arm caught her eye. She flipped her arm over quickly, only to look away in disgust just as quickly. It was only a scar, slivery tissue reflecting the light of the incomplete moon. It had been there long enough. It shouldn't be surprising her now. There was another like it on her left arm, both aftermath of the attack. The dream crept back into her thoughts, her own blood this time, running thick and dark and slow…

She turned away from the window, her eyes closed against an enemy that had long since fled. If she wasn't going to sleep, she thought, she might as well be up doing something useful. With a final pat to Asgar's head, she strode to her dresser, sifting through the piles of cloth to remove a plain beige silken top and brown woolen pants. She shrugged out of her nightclothes and into her day's attire with a quick prayer to the Maker that the unrest of the night would remain in the room when she left. She picked two daggers with polished bone handles as she fled the dreams with her war dog on her heels and closed the door on the now frigid bedroom.


	2. The Warden

**Chapter II** the Warden

The sun was heralding midday when she began the walk back to the castle, awake and composed, from practice in the yard. Her mother had kept her from a blade for much of her childhood, despite her constant protests, but after the attack her father had been insistent that she have some skill to defend herself and her mother had conceded. She didn't have the power needed to be good with a sword, but her quick hands and reflexes had given her a natural talent with the dagger. Her brother Fergus dubbed her "little rouge", in jest. Until the master at arms, who her father had given her training to, pronounced her to have an almost uncanny skill, at which point she moved to learning defense to offense, to her mother's dismay and her father's private joy. In Ferelden, both male and female children of fighting skill could win their name honor. She was glad at least her father was proud of her newfound promise, and that she had gotten something from the attack besides the night terrors.

She had almost reached the gate when Asgar turned to look back down the road with a gruff bark, ears perked. She paused to follow his gaze, wondering who would was calling. Probably one of Howe's men, she remembered.

That would explain the emptiness of the yard. She had forgotten, in the unease of the morning, that Fergus and Father were marching with Howe to join the king at Ostagar tomorrow morning. A familiar air of foreboding returned with the memory. Her father had seen enough battle in his life for three men, for three score lords. Fergus's son had just turned six, and was his father's constant shadow. And these darkspawn the king was supposed to be fighting… everything about it made her uneasy. She wished she could at least go with them, but her mother would have none of it. One child to war was enough, she said, as if her brother was already gone. Even Father said he needed her at Highever, to keep it safe. She didn't really feel that her presence would matter one way or the other, but she dreaded the idea of being left at Highever with her ghosts. She kept her silence about that, though. She knew there would be no pushing the issue with her mother.

To her surprise, though, the man who appeared through the trees didn't carry Howe's banner, or any banner. Asgar looked to her for orders, ready to drive off the intruder at a word, but she bade him wait. He didn't appear dangerous, and even if he was armed to the teeth would be worse than fool to ride on Highever alone with anything but peaceable intentions. The war dog obeyed with an exasperated _humph_ and settled to pace excitedly as the visitor drew closer.

"Well met, stranger!" she called out when the visitor was close enough to hear. "I am Ash Cousland of Highever, daughter of Marc Cousland. May I ask who it is that comes without banner to our halls?"

"Well met indeed, m'lady!" the stranger replied. He paused to dismount. Asgar let out a rumbling warning growl as he approached, but Ash again stayed him. He settled with positioning himself slightly between his the newcomer and his mistress, and the low growl continued. Odd, she thought vaguely, he was used to visitors.

But she kept her attention on the stranger, who was offering a hand. She took it. He inclined his head and gave her hand a kiss as a subject would his lord's lady.

"I am Duncan, commander of the Gray Wardens in Ferelden," he introduced himself, straitening and releasing her hand. "I travel from Ostagar with King Cailan's thanks for Highever's assistance in the upcoming battles against the darkspawn.

Ash was sure King Cailan was thankful for anyone, especially a force like Highever, but she doubted whether that was Duncan's real reason for riding the long road from Ostagar only to ride back the next morning. Especially being a Gray Warden. She knew little about the order, but she knew that anyone with a title had many motives at any given time. His full intentions would likely be shared with her father, though, so she replied as she'd been taught: "Duncan of the Gray Wardens, I bid you welcome to the hospitality of Highever. Our hall is yours as long as you will have it."

"You have my thanks," he answered with a warm smile, concluding the old exchange.

She returned the smile. She wondered at Asgar's misgivings; Duncan seemed kind enough. "You are worn from the road. Allow me to see to your horse, and I will take you to my father presently so can deliver your thanks in person." She signaled a guard from the gate.

"M'lady?" he inquired as he arrived.

"Take this man's horse to the stables, good man, and see that it is well looked after. It will need to ride again on the morrow."

"As you wish, m'lady." He gave a bow and led the commander's white mare down the path to the stables.

"A fine mabari," Duncan noted of the still growling Asgar as Ash led the way back to the gate.

"I apologize for his hostility." She frowned slightly at her dog, still between the Gray Warden and herself. "He's usually more cordial to guests."

Duncan smiled again. "I've heard it said that mabari can smell war on a man. He only means to protect his mistress. Speaking of which," he observed again, "it seems as though you are armed for war yourself. Will you join your lord father's host in Ostagar?"

Such words would have been joking or incredulous from many; even though it wasn't unusual to see a woman on the battlefield, it was less usual to see a lady. But from Duncan they were only a question. She even thought she heard respect.

"No," she replied, trying not to sound bitter. "I will stay in Highever while my lord father and brother march. Though I would go, and gladly." she added despite herself.

Duncan nodded. "Highever will be in good hands, then." She nodded, surprised that she was grateful for words that would have usually made her feel patronized. She liked this Gray Warden more every minute.

For a moment, they walked in silence. When Duncan spoke again, it was almost hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure if he should speak. "I had hopes to accomplish something other than thanks in coming to Highever," he said, but slowly, measuring his words. "The ranks of Gray Wardens in Ferelden are currently much fewer than could be wished… I had spoken with your father regarding possible recruits in his ranks."

So _that_ was his real reason for coming. His order needed new blood. But why was he asking her? "And you ask a woman's opinion?" she asked, casually but cautiously.

"A wise woman, skilled with steel," he observed. His Gray blue eyes were watching her, examining her.

Wait, was he sizing _her_ up? "What makes you think I am either?" she asked, more seriously than she had intended. She should be unnerved, but she felt strangely unconcerned, if disbelieving.

"There are two types of mabari," he replied.

mabari, she thought? What did mabari have to do with Gray Warden recruiting, or her?

"There are mabari who lead and mabari who follow." He was looking at Asgar thoughtfully. Asgar was looking back, his eyes a warning. He looked back to Ash. "This mabari sees you as head of his pack. There are men, trained soldiers, who can't say as much. As for your skill with steel, not many amateurs would be returning from practice alone before morning's end."

She wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "I thank you for your kind words," she settled for. She scrambled for a name, any name. "There is Ser Roan," she said, too quickly. "He is a new-made knight, but proven in battle beyond his years. I'm sure he would be honored to be considered for a place with the Gray Wardens."

"Ser Roan," he repeated. "I will look for him after I speak with your father." His reply was polite, satisfied. Maybe she had imagined his scrutiny…

They had arrived at the gate. The guards, seeing her, opened it without question. As they entered Highever, the horn sounded once—a long note, a greeting. Ash turned to see the first of Howe's banners.


	3. Dinner

**Chapter III **dinner

It was dinner when she next saw Duncan. She had taken him to her father in his study. Lord Cousland had greeted the Gray Warden like a friend, but had insisted that any business could wait until he had rested from the road. They would speak over dinner, he promised, and called a servant to see him to the guest chambers. Duncan thanked them both again, and Asgar watched him leave closely. When they were alone, her father embraced her.

"Well done, pup. I am not concerned for Highever in my absence." He stood back but kept his hands on her shoulders, looking her over fondly. "You look almost ready to ride off yourself. Don't tell your mother I said that, though." He smiled the smile that she had loved since before she could remember. "Speaking of your mother, you should probably change into something less martial before she sees you. She'll be in rare form today, with her oldest son leaving." For a moment, she could see the burden he carried. Her mother and father were an odd case—an arranged marriage that had become real love. She knew it was just as hard for him to leave her mother as it was for her to be left.

"I will," she promised softly.

"And any word of Howe yet?

"His first bannerman arrived as I entered the castle."

"Very good. I should go meet him; he won't be far behind.

By the time she had changed, Howe had arrived and made brief conference with her father. She met her mother in the stairs; it had been decided that Fergus would lead this afternoon with the bulk of Highever's forces and Father and Howe would follow tomorrow.

"I don't understand the use of it… but they'll both be leaving soon anyway, I suppose". Her mother sighed, and Ash saw the twin of the burden her father carried. "At least the darkspawn leave me you, my daughter. I still hope for more than one grandchild, you know."

"Perhaps in a few years, Mother." Ash hadn't yet met a man she would deem grandchild-making material. Besides, since the attack, such thoughts left her feeling ill.

"A few years!" she exclaimed with her usual fervor. "You are nineteen years, a woman by all rights, and four years older than I was when your father and I were wed!"

Ash took her mother's hand. "And I pray that the Maker smiles on my marriage as he did on yours."

Her mother's gaze softened. "My dear child. Grandchildren or no, I am blessed by you. Come, walk with me. Your father bade me tell Fergus his troops wait his lead."

And she had. They found him in his chambers, already armored and bidding his wife and child goodbye.

"There you are, little rouge!" Fergus had called affectionately when she entered. He hugged her tightly. "It's a pity you can't come with us; there's not a dagger in Ferelden what could stand up to yours."

"Don't give her any ideas," chimed their mother as Fergus hugged her in turn, more gently. "I would like to keep at least one of my children."

"Don't worry, Mother, we'll be back before the moon is full twice," her son said with confidence. "The battles go well, or so I hear."

"There is much to be wanted from hearing," his wife interjected, ill at ease.

"I will let no harm come to you or Bryan, on my honor as a rouge," Ash promised, trying to make the situation light and the promise seem unneeded.

"Would you could say the same for my husband," she mused.

"I will be back soon, my love," her husband swore. "Look for me each day."

"Aunt Ash, Daddy says you'll stay here to protect Mommy and I. Will you?" Bryan's eyes were wide; he hadn't yet fully grasped the truth of his father's imminent departure, Ash could see. Well, no need to rush it, she thought.

"I most certainly will, and it will be my honor, ser." She knelt at the young boy's feet. "My dagger is at your service, my liege." The boy giggled with glee.

"Will you teach _me_ to use a dagger, Aunt?"

Ash glanced at her brother, who answered, "As long as you learn with wood first. Steel will come soon enough."

"Then I will be honored to teach you." She smiled. Bryan was practically dancing, even at the thought of play with wooden swords. For a moment, the threat of real swords was forgotten.

At dinner, Ash took her brother's place at her father's left. Her mother was to his right. Duncan had the place of honor, at the seat next to Ash, as Howe had chosen to sup with his own men. The hall was full of Howe and Cousland fighting men, but mostly Howe's, since Fergus had left with most of the Cousland host. Halfway through the first course, Duncan voiced his question of recruitment to Lord Cousland over the din.

"I expect my daughter has told you of Ser Roan? A fine knight, young, but proven many times."

"Indeed she has," replied the Gray Warden. He paused, much like he had on the walk to the castle gate. "Your daughter is a fine warrior herself," he said deliberately.

Ash's heart skipped a beat. So she had been right, he _did_ think to recruit her! She hadn't realized how disappointed she had been at the thought she'd misread him. She waited to see her father's reaction…

Her father nearly choked on his veal. He gave a hurried glance to his wife, who was thankfully engaged in conversation with one of the courtiers. He finished chewing his meat, slowly, before turning back to the commander.

"Yes, she is. That is why she will stay here to protect Highever in my absence." Her father's words were just as deliberate.

The disappointment came back, heavier this time. There would be no yielding, she knew.

To her surprise, Duncan pressed on. "The Gray Wardens would be honored to have one like your daughter."

To her even greater surprise, her father agreed. "Yes. But she is needed in Highever." He glanced back at his wife, still rapt in conversation. "Her mother needs her."

Lord Cousland and Gray Warden commander Duncan locked eyes. Her father's gaze was firm but almost pleading, Duncan's was measuring.

Ash looked from one to the other, wondering when she had fallen asleep again.

It was Duncan that seemed to yield. "I will seek out Ser Roan after dinner is ended."

Ash's father looked supremely relieved. "Thank you, Duncan."

Ash took a long draught of wine.


	4. Goodbyes

**Chapter IV **goodbyes

It was past midnight when Ash returned from the chapel. She was exhausted, ready for sleep after her less-than-satisfactory rest of last night, but not eager to return to the den of her nightmares. So, after the odd affair of dinner, she had retired to the pray. She prayed for her brother, that the Maker might watch over him in battle, and for his wife and Bryan. She prayed that her father would be delivered safely home, and for her mother's strength. And she prayed for Duncan. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't question when she felt the desire to pray.

Trying not to dwell on the events of the evening and the days to come, Ash fell heavily on her bed, stifling a groan. She still needed to change… but as she pushed herself up from the bed, she heard Asgar give a stiff, throaty growl. This wasn't a warning growl, like the one he'd given Duncan. This was danger, and she had partnered with her war hound long enough to trust his instincts. Suddenly very awake, she hesitated for only a moment before moving quickly to her closet and pulling on her leather armor and strapping two of her daggers, double-edged steel ones with handles of ebony this time, to her back and a smaller knife to her waist. All the while, Asgar's growl continued unbroken.

Just as she finished arming herself, several things happened at once. Asgar moved to her side, ready to fight, Ash drew both daggers, and the door to the hall splintered. Where there had only been her and Asgar, now there were two more.

Men, fully armored, swords drawn.

No time to think, she threw herself on the closest one. Asgar followed.

Unnerved by the sight of a monstrous hell hound bearing down on him and expecting an easy kill, the first man fell without a fight. The second had the wit to parry a blow from one of Ash's daggers, but Asgar caught him in the side and Ash's other dagger in his chest.

With the immediate threat dead, Ash took a moment to process the situation. The true gravity became apparent. Two men couldn't storm Highever alone. There would be more, and soon. Then, a kick in the gut—her mother, her father, Bryan and his mother! Without thinking, she jumped over the fallen assailants and rushed into the hall. The alarm had to be raised.

She froze as suddenly as she had rushed out. There was no one to alarm. Highever's defenses had left with Fergus hours ago. They were alone, without help.

Four more men appeared at the top of the stairwell. "Where's the lord?" one of them yelled brusquely, taken aback by the armed resistance.

"Maker help me if you'll find out," she growled. Asgar echoed her. The men rushed them, but Ash was ready. The first, the one who had spoken, sent a powerful strike at Ash's chest. She sidestepped coolly and drove a dagger into his side as Asgar slammed him from the other side. Another appeared behind her, which got him the other dagger in the stomach as she wrenched out the first, dealing a backhand blow to his head. He fell. Asgar had the third, which left one more… but as she turned he was running back for the stairs. Pausing for a moment, she threw the dagger in her right hand. It hit home, but with the hilt. By the time he started running again, though, Asgar beset him. A few moments, and he stopped moving.

She quickly moved to reclaim her weapon. If she survived this, she vowed, she would learn how to throw a dagger properly.

Asgar moved suddenly, startling her until she heard the familiar voice of her mother. "Ash, oh, Maker! Ash, are you alright?" Her mother looked her over for wounds, then hugged her much more tightly than Ash would have thought possible.

"Mother, you're ok." Ash breathed. "Where is Father?"

"I don't know," she replied desperately, wringing her hands. "He never came to bed."

Her breath caught in her throat. "What is happening?"

Her mother looked at the fallen men. "These are Howe's," she spat. "Howe, who we received as an honored guest!" Ash was dumbfounded. The figures danced through her mind. Howe's force was three thousand strong at least; at most, Fergus had left only five hundred, and not all of those fighting men.

"If Howe has betrayed us, we are lost," she whispered.

"We must find your father," was her mother's only reply.

"What of Bryan and his mother?"

Her eyes widened. "Yes, we must find them first." Ash spun towards their chambers. Her mother hurried to stride quickly beside her.

The first thing Ash noticed was the door. It was open. Her stomach dropped out of a pit in her gut. Slowly, painfully, she entered the chamber.

The bodies of her sister-in-law and her only nephew lay on the floor, in positions unnatural for life. Ash turned away, tears already choking. She heard her mother begin to pray, broken and halting, behind her. "No, no, no," she repeated softly, eyes on the ceiling. Asgar began to howl.

"M'ladies!" hissed a voice behind them.

Ash jumped and drew her knife, but it was a friend… Ser Roan.

"Ser Roan," her mother sighed.

"M'ladies, you must go," the young knight urged. "Howe has betrayed us. We have the bulk of them at the gates but you must leave while you can!"

"What of my lord husband?" asked Lady Cousland tearfully.

"He went searching for you," Ser Roan replied, lowering his gaze. "In hopes he could find you and escape, we bade him go to the servant's exit, in the kitchens."

"Why do you turn your gaze so, Ser," asked Ash's mother, her eyes pleading.

"The lord was… wounded."

Lady Cousland began to sob.

Ash took her mother's hand. "We will go to the servant's door. He will be there, I'm sure of it. Father is strong." Her mother nodded weakly, tears in her tired eyes. "Ser Roan," she turned, "come with us."

The knight shook his head. "No more will have a chance of escaping unnoticed." He turned back into the hall. "I will delay them as long as I can."

"Ser Roan…"

He smiled, concealing his fear bravely. "Maker bless you, m'ladies."

"And you." She felt tears, stinging in her eyes, and the knight was gone.

Ash turned to her mother. "We must go. Father waits for us."

"Yes…" She glanced again at the bodies of her only grandchild and the wife of her son and looked quickly away. "They will pay for what they have done."

"They will," Ash swore. "Asgar, protect Mother," she directed. Asgar looked at her with understanding. "Maker help us all."

Their unhindered flight to the kitchen was tainted by the knowledge that people were dying for them downstairs. Ash rushed into the kitchen, her mother and Asgar close behind. For a moment, it seemed empty, and then, a hoarse whisper—

"Kate? Ash?"

The two ran to the source of the sound with excitement… and then, dismay. As they reached Lord Cousland, it was clear Ser Roan had understated his injuries. Ash's father was unable to stand, his breathing ragged, clutching a gash through his chest that ran from his neck to the beginning of his right leg. A pool of dark red had already gathered beneath him.

"My love!"

"Father!"

Both knelt beside the dying man. "Father, we'll get you out," Ash whispered. "We'll find you a healer, a mage, anything—you'll be alright, you'll be alright…"

Her father struggled to form the smile, the one she loved. "No, pup," he said through gritted teeth. "I have seen you and your mother safe… but I cannot even stand. Leave me, run, repay Howe for what he has done to our family."

"No! Father, I won't leave you. I won't!" The tears had stopped, replaced by a fierce rage. The time for tears had not yet come.

Pain shot through his eyes, dark and sharp. "You must." His voice was unbearably sad. "Take your mother… go, while you still can…"

Asgar's low growl broke the hushed exchange. In an instant, Ash was on her feet again, in front of her parents, ready to strike down-

Duncan. Ash sheathed her weapons, relieved; Duncan could help them. Duncan could save her father.

"Duncan, thank the Maker! You must help us. My father is injured, badly, he can't stand…"

The Gray Warden knelt beside the fallen lord. They met eyes. "Duncan," Lord Cousland pleaded, "take my daughter and my wife to safety. Please."

Duncan glanced at his wound and back to his eyes. "My friend, I am sorry I can't do more."

"Just take them! Now, take them, leave me and go!"

"I will," Duncan promised gravely. "I am sorry, though; there is something I must ask of you in return."

Ash's father's eyes were blank for a moment, then understanding crept in. "Ash…"

"Yes." Duncan replied, sorrow in his eyes. "I ask that you trust your daughter to the care of the Gray Wardens. It is clear, now, that this is the Maker's will."

Her father's voice was thick with pain and sorrow as he agreed.

Ash listened numbly. No, she thought, not like this…

Duncan stood. "Ash. We must go."

Ash collapsed on her knees, grasping her father's hand, the one that wasn't trying to hold closed the gaping wound in his chest… the tears were coming now. "Father, he will pay, I promise you, I swear it. And, Maker willing, then I will join you."

"You must not say that, pup." The pain again. He looked in her eyes, and she saw love and hope and comfort and strength… "Live." Ash didn't want to look away from her father's eyes. He kissed her hand. "Now go!"

Gently, Duncan pulled her to her feet. "Mother," she croaked through her tears. She froze again. She hadn't noticed, but her mother had not moved from her place cradling her father's head in her arms since they had entered. "No," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

"Go," her mother repeated hoarsely. "My place is by my husband's side, sweet daughter." She looked at her daughter with sadness, but the same hope and love that she'd seen in her father's eyes. "I love you, my child. Go with the Maker's blessing, and with ours." She squeezed her husband's hand.

"Kate…" her husband breathed. "I never wanted this."

"I will die by your side, my husband. That is all I could have wanted."

For the first time she could remember, Ash saw her father cry.

Then there were shouts in the hall. She was vaguely aware of Duncan pulling her through the concealed servant's door and of struggling against him, and later thought she could hear her own voice, repeating _no_ over and over.

Then, nothing.


	5. Mercy

**Chapter V **mercy

The dream was the same, but worse now—with the falling and the blood and the broken screams there were now the bodies of her mother and father and her brother's wife and son. They were dead, their attackers gone, she hadn't protected them as she had sworn… she tried to approach them, but they only drew farther.

"Will you teach me to use a sword?"

"I can't even stand…"

"I love you, my child."

Someone was screaming. It sounded like her voice. Then the falling again, and she was awake.

Disoriented, she sat up in her bed as she tried to rub the images from her eyes. Only it wasn't her bed she sat up in, but a worn woolen bedroll. Confused, she took in her surroundings, a small clearing in an unfamiliar forest dense with whitewood and ash. She noted another bedroll, still neatly tucked away not far from the small pile of tinder and branches. Maker, she thought, what is this place and why am I here? I should be at the castle—

The castle.

The terrible new dream, Howe's betrayal, her father dying before her eyes as Duncan pulled her through from the death of her family all returned at once. They hit her, a lead Morningstar to the gut. Their deaths should have been yours, snarled a voice from somewhere inside the numbness that gripped her heart. Only yours. Not those who were yours to protect. You let them die, and then you ran, without so much as seeking revenge on the ones who killed them."

Held rapt by the voice, she didn't see Asgar until he was standing over her, knocking her back to the bedroll and licking her face mercilessly. From relief, or maybe just the keen exhaustion that gripped her, she made no move to stop him. She waited until he tired and settled down close beside her, his Gray muzzle on her right leg. She stroked his head softly, making no move to rise again. Until her eyes wandered to the sky over her head, to the east, where a thick column of black, tarry smoke was billowing into the evening sky. Asgar whined in protest as Ash her hand from his head to push herself up again. It was clear what fed the growing cloud. Silently, she said a prayer for the spirits of her family, that they were finding peace with the Maker…

Then, without conscious effort, she was on her feet. It was hard to tell how far away the source of the smoke was, but it wouldn't be hard to find. It wasn't too late to do what little was left in her power. She glanced around for her weapons.

"Ash… you're awake."

She spun to see a haggard Duncan, arms full of larger branches for fire. He laid them with the sticks and tinder as he approached her.

"How… how long was I asleep?" she asked, watching Duncan with one eye and looking for her dagger with the other.

"Three days," he answered gently.

Another punch to the gut. Three full days? She had hoped to at least take some of Howe's men down with her, but by the time she returned to what had once been Highever they would almost surely be gone. She cursed under her breath.

The Gray Warden seemed to read her intentions. "You want to go back." There was sorrow in his eyes, and she thought she saw a hint of understanding.

"I have to." Ash's tone was pleading. She had meant for it to be certain, but she continued, "I should never have left. My place is with my family."

"Your family is gone to the Maker," Duncan replied, softly but firmly.

"Then that is my place as well."

He was close enough to put a hand on her shoulder now. He looked as if he might, but seemed to think better of it. She was trying her best to project the certainty she felt. "Your father's last wish was for you to live, not for you to die," he said, meeting her eyes. "And that is a place a Gray Warden cannot serve. I knew your father, as an ally and a trusted friend. He would say a Cousland always fulfills their duty." She looked down.

"How can I live when those I was supposed to protect lie slain?" Her whisper was desperate, a groping in the dark.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Do for others what you could not do for them. Show the strength of your mother and father, of the Couslands. Make them proud."

She stood in silence for a long time. The commander was right. And besides, she couldn't die yet. Not before Howe met his death at her hands and her family was avenged…

Finally, she met his eyes again. "I am a Cousland, and no man or spawn of evil will oppose me until my task is done and the Maker shows me his mercy." She knelt. "I am yours to command.

He pulled her back to her feet. "You will make a fine Gray Warden, Ash Cousland. Already, you bring pride to your house."

But when she slept that night, her last prayer was that the Maker's mercy was quick to find her.


	6. Ostagar

**Chapter VI **Ostagar 

First light found Ash already awake. She had made a halfhearted try at sleep, but she was reluctant to be in the nightmare again so soon. Besides, she had just slept for three days. So she had spent the night with her daggers, spinning and slashing at invisible enemies in the dark, eyes closed against any memories. A few hours before dawn, when her arms screamed at each strike, she stopped. Instead of returning to her bedroll, she picked a tall whitewood with wide, low branches and climbed. When she reached a branch high enough to see the smoke, she stopped there. It was thinner now. Closing her eyes again, she sent her prayers to heaven with the smoke.

Just before first light, she heard stirring in the camp below. She peered down. She thought she saw Duncan stiffen when he saw her empty bedroll, but he relaxed again when he realized Asgar was still asleep beside it. Noiselessly, she climbed down. Two things she was good at: daggers and silence. The Gray Warden turned, a surprised hand twitching for the longsword at his back, when she dropped to the forest floor behind him an earthy thud. "Maker, child, you surprised me!" But he looked more pleased then surprised. She had to say, she was a bit pleased herself that she'd caught the warrior off guard. "More assurance that you will make a fine recruit," he said with a benevolent smile. "Speaking of that, there is something I need to ask you." His smile faded. "I would have asked most recruits right away, but…" he paused. "I wanted to give you some time."

His eyes were grave now. "Membership in the Gray Wardens is always by free will. I did what I did at Highever because I couldn't let an innocent die needlessly. A Gray Warden must put everything—personal ambition, love, vengeance—aside for their duty. They become a part of something more than themselves. If you arrive at Ostagar seeking to join the Gray Wardens, there will be no turning back. Knowing that, Ash Cousland, will you join us?"

She waited for a moment, but she had already decided. She wasn't sure why, but she knew she didn't really have a choice. "I have nothing to return to," she said finally. "I owe you my life. So I give it to the Gray Wardens." She felt the gravity of her reply, its echo almost tangible in the predawn silence.

"Then I name you a recruit of the Gray Wardens. May the path you have chosen bring you peace." A smile returned to the commander's face. "I'm glad that question is answered.

He glanced at her packed bedroll. "Sleep didn't call?"

Blood and glass and death swirled behind her eyes. "I had enough sleep the past few days, I suppose."

"There may soon come a time when you will wish you'd slept anyway." There was faint sadness in his voice again. "If we leave before the sun touches the treetops, we will make Ostagar by midday."

Her heart jumped unexpectedly in her chest. _Fergus_. How could she have forgotten her brother? He was alive, and would be at Ostagar only just ahead of her! I'm not alone, she thought. Maybe the Cousland line could still survive…

And this King Cailan, her father had spoken of him before. No king worth his throne would allow this kind of mindless murder to go unpunished. They could bring their case before him together, her and Fergus. She felt stirrings of hope. Maybe the Maker's mercy was close, after all.

After they had packed their meager camp and set off, Ash voiced her thoughts to the commander.

"Cailan did know your father," he mused as they strode steadily along a narrow deer trail. Asgar trailed Ash closely, but would occasionally dart off into the trees, only to reappear a few minutes later, tail wagging. He wasn't growling at Duncan anymore, she realized. Maybe he thought saving his mistress's life was enough good faith to overshadow whatever war-smell Duncan had about him. "And he is a fair and just ruler. I am sure he will see Howe brought to justice." He paused as they picked their way over a fallen tree rotting in the path. "I doubt he'll be able to devote too much time to such matters before the battle is done, though."

Even with the promise of a delay, she was glad for the commander's reassurance that the king would give justice. It would give her time to seek out her brother, at any rate. Asgar gave a happy bark as he emerged again from the trees.

They set a quick pace, but still only sighted the keep in the distance an hour past noon. It was another half hour before they stood at the gates.

"Who seeks entrance to Ostagar, fortress against the Blight?" called a guardsman from the gate's lever fifty feet above.

"Duncan, commander of the Gray Wardens of Ferelden," Duncan answered in a booming voice. It took Ash aback—for a soft-spoken man, Duncan had a commanding crowd voice.

The iron bars crept slowly up, the gate's internal mechanisms clanging. As they entered, the guard at the gate yelled down a more colloquial greeting. "Duncan! Good to see you back. Mission a success, I take it?"

"Well met, Olag!" Duncan answered. "That it was, Maker be praised."

"The more the merrier," the guardsman grinned and turned back to his watch.

As they entered Ostagar proper, Ash blinked, stunned. This wasn't a camp; it was a city. There were people everywhere. Most of them were soldiers, those not guarding or training in rough woolen attire, but there were also mages, Chantry officials, and dozens of servants delivering messages. The architecture itself showed its many centuries, some statues were weathered beyond recognition and stairs and bridges were missing chunks of stone in places, but it was still impressive. The keep's spiraling tower was twice the size of Highever's—she felt a pain like a cold knife in her side and pushed the thoughts of her home away.

"Welcome to Ostagar," said Duncan. His words were a kind distraction from her own thoughts. He surveyed the vast camp. "Humanity's answer to the Blight."

Ash still wasn't quite sure what a blight even was, or what exactly they were going to be fighting. She had heard about Nightbreeds or Darkchildren, whatever they had been called, but she had no idea what they were. But that could wait till later, she thought. An important-looking soldier, clad in golden armor and flanked by seven armed men with black cloaks, was approaching them. The king, she thought, excited despite Duncan's warning about bringing her supplications forward before the battle. She could at least mention it, she reasoned.

"Duncan, my friend!" yelled the man cheerily, clapping him on the back as he approached. He was younger than she thought he'd be."I was beginning to fear you weren't going to arrive in time for the festivities."

He was younger than Ash had expected, not past thirty. His eyes, a shade darker than his gold armor, were kind. And Duncan had spoken well of his ability as a just ruler, she remembered, hopeful.

"It is good to see you well, my king," Duncan answered with a slight bow. "How ready do we stand?"

"Oh, don't bow. You know I can't stand that," the king said with a frown. "As for Ostagar, we are as ready as we can ever be. A small supply caravan came in just before you, solving the problem of arm scarcity. Fergus Cousland, son of the Lord of Highever, arrived yesterday morning and now scouts west."

Ash drew in a sharp breath. Her brother was here, safe. That seemed to draw the king's attention to her. He turned from Duncan to study her briefly.

"So you managed to find another for the Wardens? Well done." He greeted her with a warm smile. "It is good to meet you. May I ask your name?"

"Ash Cousland, Your Majesty," she replied with a bow, too busy trying to prepare herself for what she wanted to say to remember how he'd reacted to Duncan's bow.

"A Your Majesty _and _a bow." He turned back to Duncan with a sly smile. "I can see you've spent some time with her already. Wait, Ash Cousland?" He looked back to her, recognition growing in his honey eyes. "Bryce's youngest?" He laughed good-naturedly. "I should have known you were a Cousland; only Bryce would give his lady daughter a war dog." Asgar cocked his head to the left, _huff_ing indignantly. "He had written that he was leaving you to see after Highever in his absence… do you bring news of him?"

"Our road here was a harrowing one, my king," Duncan said carefully, looking to Ash.

"My lord father is dead, my liege," said Ash, thankful for the numbness that hadn't left her chest. "As is my mother and the rest of my house, all but Fergus my brother who arrived yesterday." She could see shock and confusion in the king's eyes. That was a good sign, she thought, so she continued on. "Dead by the swords of Arl Howe, who was our guest. If not for Duncan, I too would lay slain." She paused, head down, to wait anxiously for the king's response.

"She speaks the truth." She was surprised to hear Duncan's soft voice. "Howe left none alive." Ash shot the commander a grateful smile.

"Dead…" she heard the king whisper after what felt like some time. She raised her eyes to the lord's, finding anger and pain. He would help her, she realized with relief. "Your father was a dear friend," he said slowly. "I mourn your loss, and will ask the Maker for your family's peace." He glared into the distance. "Howe is a snake, but I would never have expected this." He looked back to Ash. "I will bring justice to Howe when the battle is done, I swear on my throne." She felt a vicious joy. If the king could give her vengeance, all she had to do was kill a few Nightfears, and then…

"You have my eternal gratitude, my king." She replied, bowing again. "… If I may ask, when will my brother return? I have much to tell him."

The king bit his lip. "He led the scouts into the Wilds only this morning It is difficult to say, but it will like be days before he returns. When he does, though, I will send you word immediately."

"Again, my king, you have my thanks."

King Cailan let the inclined head slide that time. "You are now a recruit of the Gray Wardens, then?"

"I am, Your Grace."

"I pray the Maker smiles on your path, then." The warrior king turned back to Duncan. "I apologize for the briefness of our visit, but I fear Loghain will wear through the ground under his tent with walking if I don't go to confer with him soon. I will summon you after you have rested to tell you of our progress and seek your council.

"As you wish, my king."

The young king smiled broadly at the Gray Warden. "It is good to have you back in Ostagar, my friend."

The king and his retinue continued past them to a distant circle of three imposing white tents.

"He will keep his word," Duncan assured her as he watched the king grow smaller. "He is young, but kind and just."

"If he can," Ash answered. She wasn't quite sure why.

"I suppose we never know for sure where the Maker will lead us," he mused, eyes still on the king.

In the moment, she realized how many questions she had for the quiet man. She didn't know anything about this order she would soon be joining- the history, the purpose, _her_ purpose…

As she was about to ask, Duncan looked back at her like he could sense the questions buzzing in her head. "I am sure there is much you wish to know, but questions can wait till after you've had something to eat." He smiled his warm smile. It reminded her of her father's… another pang, sharper this time.

But it was true that she hadn't eaten in nearly four days. I must be past hunger, she thought; her stomach was silent. But the weakness was catching up to her.

Duncan shrugged off his pack and set it on the ground. After a few moments of sifting through its contents, he produced a thick cut of dried meat, probably deer, she thought, an apple, and a wedge of hard white cheese wrapped in cloth. "Dinner won't be served for another few hours, and I have things I must attend to," he said as he handed her the food. She knew she should be starving, but the sight of the meat made her queasy. Duncan continued. "Eat, rest, and explore Ostagar as you like. I will be at my fire, off the path to the right before you reach the kennels. Find me there when the sun reaches the tops of the trees." She nodded. She wouldn't mind a few hours of peace.

"There is another Gray Warden in Ostagar besides myself—Alistair is his name. His armor bears the seal of Redcliffe. If you come upon him, have him return with you."

She nodded again. "Do you know a quiet place where I could pray?" she inquired. She had always been close to the Maker, but with the events of the past few days she had taken to praying whenever her mind wasn't otherwise occupied.

He smiled a sad smile. "The Chantry has set up past the mage's quarters, though I don't know how quiet it will be. I will likely be there later, myself."

"Thank you," she said, her voice unintentionally catching in her throat. "I will leave you to your duties, then."

"We will talk more soon," the commander promised. "I will see you at dinner." He began to walk east.

"Duncan?" Ash called after him hesitantly, almost too soft to hear.

He stopped, turning back. "Yes?"

"Thank you… for saving me." It was difficult to say, and she wasn't sure how much she meant it, but she _did_ owe him a great deal.

He smiled kindly, but a shadow passed over his eyes. "As I told your father, I only wish I could have done more."


	7. Argument

**Chapter VII **argument

Sitting under the shade of a tree, long branches covered with leaves of red and orange and Gray, she ate the hard cheese first and then the apple. The tree's leave named it an oak, another sign of how far she had come from home. Oaks didn't grow in Highever's forests. She wondered if she would forget that, if she lived long enough. She wondered absently what the life expectancy of a Gray Warden was, petting Asgar's back where he lay beside her, content for a moment. What would have happened to him if I had died? The thought made her sad and a bit guilty.

She had nibbled on the dried deer, but had eventually tossed it to Asgar. It reminded her of the men she had killed.

Maybe I'm not made to be a warrior after all, she thought, remembering back to the first time her father had taken her hunting. The hounds caught the scent of deer early on, and the party tracked it through the trees for what felt like hours. Finally, the hounds' movements told them it was close. She was thoroughly enjoying herself until her brother brought the deer down, a great beast with branching antlers and dark, wise eyes, with an arrow through the forehead. Her father had sent her back with one of the knights, desperately trying not to cry. She didn't touch the venison at dinner that night, or any night after that.

She had never killed anything before. She didn't even like to squish insects, preferring to trap them in a jar than end their tiny lives. But she had been defending her home…

And they were following orders, replied a familiar voice.

They wouldn't have spared me.

You didn't give them a chance, it observed.

They murdered my family.

As you murdered someone else's when you took their lives. The voice was smug.

She stood up with a sigh, ending the internal argument. She could never win against the voice. The worst part was that it was always right.

Perhaps I should explore Ostagar, she mused. She wasn't really in a sightseeing mood, but her empty mind was inviting dark visitors. Besides, she had always had a fascination for architecture.

And Ostagar had plenty of it. She wondered over a massive stone bridge, fingers trailing the carved stone railing. She had to move to the other side sometime around the middle to avoid a huge gap in the rock, like a hungry giant had gnawed halfway through it.

She stopped admire two statues flanking the bridge on the other side. Andraste, she knew when she saw the one on the left. The other was too worn to recognize, but the quality of the ancient craftsmanship was still obvious. She would have to remember to ask Duncan how old Ostagar was.

She turned back to admire the stone likeness of Andraste… and froze in horror. Asgar, nonchalant as anything, was relieving himself on the statue's foundation.

"Asgar, _no_!" she scolded, panicked. But the damage was done. The war dog cocked his head and lolled his tongue, as if to ask what was wrong. Ash sighed. "Well, if the Maker strikes us with the boils and indigestion, I'm blaming _you_," she said crisply. Asgar gave a whine that was almost a laugh.

There was another laugh, behind her. She spun, flushing; there was a young man a ways down the road who, unless he was getting a kick out of the architecture, had seen their whole exchange. He was too far away to make out a sigil on his arms, but he seemed handsome enough. Of course, she thought, flushing again. She gave an exaggerated shrug, trying to brush off the embarrassment. He grinned broadly and continued on his way. "You knew he was there the whole time, didn't you?" she accused the hound. He wagged his tail happily.

She was still blushing at the incident as she walked away, but it had distracted her from other thoughts. She lost herself in the bustle of the camp, watching the people and stopping to admire anything that interested her. She stopped to put a hand on an old grave, the name worn away but a weathered gryphon was barely visible in the right corner. Ash said a prayer for the unnamed warrior. They passed what a small sign identified as the Quartermaster's tent nestled between the foot of a steep hill and an ancient open forge extending out from it. She made note of the many new wooden structures, watch towers, pavilions, and tables, that filled the courtyard. The army must have been here for some time. One such pavilion was currently in use. She glanced into the sky; she would have liked to have more time, but the gathering was on the way to a half-fallen circle of stone she wanted to see, so she stopped to watch.

"We gather here today, in the very heart of the battle against the result of human depravity." Chantry. A Mother, by her age and the sharpness of her voice. She noticed the Chantry tent close by. This pavilion must have been built for their use. "We gather to ask the Maker to protect us from our sins. In the name of his bride Andraste, we ask him to watch over those of us who have already fallen, as well as those still to fall."

The crowd around her was large, mostly composed of haggard soldiers who looked like they had seen people fall recently. Many of them bowed their heads, muttering their own prayers softly. Others looked to the speaker, eyes searching for reassurance. Some knelt. Ash bowed her head.

The Mother continued. "We ask for his light and guidance. We ask for his help in dispelling this evil that threatens to consume us. But above all else, today we pray for the intercession of his beloved bride for the fallen. May they rest safely in the arms of the King of All. Andraste, watch over us. Maker, deliver us."

"Maker, deliver us," the crowd repeated together, some quiet and some with full voice.

"Maker deliver us," whispered Ash.

She gave a smile to the Reverend Mother as she descended the steps, who returned a solemn nod. When she looked over her shoulder at the sun, it had turned the sky into a rich mélange of warm reds and oranges. She had a bit longer before Duncan had instructed her to return, but she still needed to find the other Warden… what was his name again? Alec? She shook her head as she turned towards the crescent of stones she'd been heading too before she'd stopped at the pavilion. She had always been awful with names, a glaring fault at court. I'll never have to worry about _that_ again, she thought ruefully, squeezing her eyes shut against the breaking wave of sadness.

When she reached the stones, her hunger to explore was all but gone, lost beneath the water in her head. She stood in the middle of the circle, but the stones were just stones again. That's how it should be, she thought, cursing herself. Should the dead laugh with the living? Asgar, sensing the black waters rising in his mistress, nuzzled her, whimpering softly. She placed a hand on his head as she walked to the far edge of the circle, where the missing pillars should have been. Asgar followed beside her, close enough that she didn't have to move her hand.

She had a good guess where the missing pillars had gone—with the stone that had supported them, through three hundred feet of air to the ground below. It looked west, and the sunset gently touched the forest with its glow and suffused through the broken stone past the end of her vision. She felt very small. She took half a step, so that only her heels were on the stone. Asgar whimpered again. It would be easy, she thought, to shift her weight forward. She looked back at Asgar, now pacing nervously. Duncan would take care of him…

She stepped back carefully. Asgar wagged his tail, barking happily. No, she couldn't. The sun had touched the trees. She turned from the splendid sight. "Howe will go first," she said out loud. Asgar _huff_ed solemnly in agreement.

She made for the light of a large fire past where she had seen the kennels, already bright in the twilight.


End file.
